The dean rose: "Dear friends, now we will conclude for to day." All rose up. "Many words have been spoken for our edification; may God grant His grace upon the seed sown! Dear friends, your homes are in remote parts; you live high up, where the frost more often cuts down the corn than the sickle. Such desolate mountain places ought not to be cultivated, and ought now to be left to tradition, and the grazing cattle. Spiritual life can scarcely flourish up there, it becomes gloomy like the surrounding vegetation. Life is overshadowed by prejudice,--as by the mountains under which they grow up. The Lord gather, the Lord enlighten!--I thank you for this day my friends, it has been a day of enlightenment for me also." He shook hands with each of them, and even the young man gave his cordially, yet without raising his eyes. "You go over the mountain,--when will you reach home?" asked the dean when they were ready to go.--"Oh, to-night sometime," said Lars; "a good deal of snow has fallen now, and where it has blown off, there are ice-banks."--"Well, my friends, it is worthy of all honour to come to church under such difficulties.--I trust you will get home safely now!" Erik answered in a low tone: "Is God for me, whate'er there is That will against me fall, I can with prayer, and joyfully, Tread under foot it all!" "That is true, Erik, this time you have hit the mark!"--"Yes, but wait a moment," said Odegaard just as they were going; "it is not strange that you do not know me;--but I should have relations up at Odegardene." They all turned to him, even the dean, who had known, it is true, but quite forgotten it. "My name is Hans Odegaard, son of Pastor Knud Hansen Odegaard, who once left you, long ago, with his knapsack on his back."--Then it sounded from the shawls: "Goodness,--that is my brother, that."-- They had all gathered round him, but no one was able to say anything. At last Odegaard asked: "Then it was with you I was staying when I was once up there with my father?"--"Yes, it was with me."--"And a little while with me," said Lars; "your father is my cousin."--But Randi said sorrowfully: "So this is little Hans;--yes, time goes."--"How is Else?" asked Odegaard.--"This is Else," said Randi, pointing to the fair-haired woman.--"Are YOU Else!" he exclaimed; "you were in trouble about a love affair then; you wanted to have the musician; did you get him?" No one replied. Although it was beginning to darken, he could see that Else turned very red, and the men looked either away or down--with the exception of the young man, who looked fixedly at Else. Odegaard saw that he had put an unfortunate question, the dean came to his assistance, "No, Hans the musician is unmarried; Else married Lars' son, but now she is free again, she is a widow."--Again she blushed scarlet, the young man saw it, and smiled haughtily.